Do you think D’angel maybe aims to be the Jamaican Miley Cyrus?

My thumb pressing, rubbing so close to your private lips, massage the crease where your thigh meets your heaven. Using only my thumb, rubbing between the crease, smooth, pressing deep, right there, back and forth, smooth and slow, smooth and slow, back and forth. You can’t keep the lipstick steady in your hands anymore, you can’t apply it to your lips, you fold your lips, close your eyes, try to swallow the sensation and get a grip of yourself to apply the first red line of lipstick. I bite on your thigh, a slow teasing little nip, drag the hard edge of my teeth slow as your thigh slowly slips from between my teeth. I end my carnal bite with a light flick of my tongue. You shudder and the lipstick falls from your hand onto the white sheet. The lipstick rolls and marks the sheet red. I was a bad boy. You pull me up hard by my hair. Tongue kiss me. Get the lipstick, apply it wildly to your lips then kiss me wet and hard, pressing into me, lips, tongue, everything. Leaving your red kiss marks all over my lips. Hand me the bottle. I pull your dress down, uncovering you. Haul it over your shiny oiled ass. I kneel between your thighs, put my head under your dress and oil only your clit with careful attention, carefully tugging back the hood of the clit and massaging the warm oil onto your raw naked clit. The sensations are maddening between your legs. I watch your heated inside melt the whipped cream in your pussy like ice cream rubbed on the sun. It melts down your thighs.

“I lick the melting whipped cream off your inner thighs, but I don’t lick your pussy, just close enough to the cheek to graze it and drive you mad. You want me to use my thick warm wet tongue and lick the other leg, but I don’t. I suck it. Suck on your thigh. I hear you breathing raspy, your knees slightly bent. Wobble. I stand. In heat you raise one of your legs and put it on the bed, your heels stabbing into the white sheet and you don’t care. You tug on my leash, telling me to fuck you, not by talking but by uncovering your ass, pulling your short dress up to your waist, showing your panty-less ass, then you return to putting on your lipstick, fighting to calm the mad rush of tingles storming through your belly and thighs and knee and head. I slide only the warm light-pink swollen head of my rigid stretched cock in to your whipped cream filled pussy, your lipstick falls from your hand again, lips gasp, open wide, mouth slackened, you throw down my leash, swat your nurse cap off your head, let down your hair. You’re ready.

“You lean forward, hands on the mirror. I use the metal chain on my collar to sexually wrap around your neck and sink my entire cock balls deep into to you, a swift, powerful thrust, so deep you speak for the first time, ‘OHH fuck.’ The whipped cream squirts out on both sides of you, between your thighs are a white whipped cream mess. I pull my cock out, lick my lips, look at the mess and ask ‘My, my, my, however will we get you cleaned up?’” GET YOUR COPY NOW, DIGITAL COPIES AT HALF PRICE FOR A LIMITED TIME US$4.99, also available in every parish in Jamaica, see where to buy below